Malevolent Confusion
by snickerdoodlez
Summary: Fred and George are back together. Enough said. 000h, 4nd th3r3's 4n 4ctu4l st0r13 c0nc3rn1ng m0r3 d34d p30pl3, yeay.
1. Excerpt

**snickz: Hey, guys. So, as I understand it, I need a little disclaimer. Here it is (ta-daaa!): I do not own any Harry Potter characters (i.e., Voldemort, Ron Weasley, oh and Harry Potter himself) as they belong to J.K.Rowling and her affiliates, but obviously I own and would very much mind if someone "borrowed" my characters i.e. ...well they'll come up, haha, "Yay I love surprises!" ahem so anyway...**

--"

"_Expelliaramis!"_

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_The bang was like a canon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort's green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunk, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy's shell._

_One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air… They moved Voldemort's body and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away from the bodies of Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Colin Greevey, and fifty others who had died fighting him… Death Eaters were fleeing or else being captured…_

_Somewhere in the distance [Harry, Ron, and Hermoine could hear Peeves zooming around through the corridors singing a victory song of his own composition: _We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter's the one, And Voldy's gone moldy, so now let's have fun!

"_Really gives a feeling for the scope and tragedy of the thing, doesn't it?" said Ron, pushing a door to let Harry and Hermoine through._

_"-- (end pp. 743-746)_


	2. ReAwakening

_--flashback_

_Bellatrix sat, crumpled in the corner, weeping into her hands as the other Death Eaters in adjacent stalls moaned and screamed in rampage. She let out a sorrowful moan and rested herself back against the cold, stone wall, her chest heaving up and down as it was a near challenge to breath for the sake of living—it played no role now, now that her Master was gone… She wiped her eyes with the back of her wrists, one at a time, and menacingly glowered at the stones on the floor._

_A soft, chill voice, then, drifted around her, called her name gently, and whispered into her ear, as suddenly the world around her fell quiet in her head… _

_Bellatrix's eyes shot open, suddenly, and she jumped up to her feet; immediately thereafter she began slapping the walls with her hands, screaming,_ "There's a way to bring him back! He did it before!_" Her chest rose and fell, as she was exasperated at this point already; she felt she would only live long enough for this sole mission: to bring the Dark Lord back. 'But that doesn't matter, he'll restore me for my loyalty,' she thought idly, smiling faintly at the thought of him again, alone with her… _

_She continued banging around the walls, her fists and knuckles raw and starting to crack and bleed bleed as she cackled aloud and screamed: _

"_Yaxley! Strutton! There's a way to bring him back! _–THERE'S A WAY TO BRING HIM BACK!_"_

_--end flashback_


	3. RealWorld

--present day…--

I land on my face. I can feel the coldness in his laughter as his eyes burn through me, as if he could actually create holes in my body just by staring down at me with those piercing eyes, those damn eyes. It's as if he always knows what I'm thinking, about to say, about to think—

I scream aloud as his foot collides with my ribs. I hear the subsequent –_crack_- of my bones—my bones, _me_, _I'_m the one he's breaking—

My breath, I hear, is hard and short. My lungs try to expand, to suck in delicious, sweet air—but the icy air scorches my dry throat like wildfire on a grassy plane. It burns so much, I feel a small curl at the ends of my lips. This is something _I_ have done, _he_ can't hurt me like this, not yet…

I hurl a scream into the air again, as I feel another bone snapping under the weight of his minions. Then the shocking electric current from his _Crucio... _I hear him mutter _That's enough, she'll talk now_—

That's all I am anymore, someone with secrets, something like a locked book. He's shoving in keys, trying to open the lock—but each key snaps, leaving behind a blockage in the keyhole, and the precious information inside seeps further away from the light. I don't even know what he wants—what is it he thinks I have? He kicks me again.

I'm hoisted into the air, suspended by my ankle. Through my puffy, bloody eyes, I can still see him, his smooth, pearly white skin and no ears, slits for nostrils, and piercing, firey eyes in contrast to my dull brown ones. I think he's saying something, I'm not quite sure, as everything fades to black and darkness overwhelms me like a soft cover through which not even the brightest of light can break…

--

I bolt upright from my bed, breath short and finding myself suddenly feeling a little sticky. I put a hand to my forehead, and immediately mutter something in disgust as I wipe the sweat from my hand on the white bedsheets tangled around my legs. Slowly my breath returns to normal, and I find myself wondering who that person in the dream was, where I had been—was I being tortured?

I shiver at the thought. Suddenly, I'm a little cold. I slip out of my bed, somehow manage not to fall over when I trip, and saunter over to the bathroom for my robe.

As I pass by the doorframe, my eyes glance around my room for a sweep. Maybe someone was watching me? It's an uncomfortable feeling, I don't like it. I leave to the bathroom, past the pictures of family memories past, then smiling now plagued by heated arguments or –I stop myself before I walk into the white bathroom door, and slowly I turn the knob before stepping inside.

Maybe my parents think that, in having a nearly entirely white house, it's a way of cleansing the mind, to deny any wrongdoing on their parts, to create a buffer system in that they themselves are suddenly pure in a pure-white facility? I think that's stupid. It's rubbish, you can't depend on walls to support you. You can't depend on paint that will one day fade. That's how I look at things.

I pass by the mirror on the left without a glance; I already know what I'll see. Messy brown hair. Boring brown eyes. A girl still wondering if she'll grow, or remain her slight pear-shape forever at four-foot-eleven. I don't need to be depressed _this_ early in the morning…

I reach out for my robe—which is white, too, incidentally—and retract my hand almost immediately upon noticing a relatively large black spider staring back at me. I admire the contrast for a moment, and stare back at it. It has to be scared, its heart must be beating rapidly—do insects have hearts, internal organs, brains? I don't like being ignorant, but this will probably just be one of those aimless questions that flows just as easily into my brain as out of it. The spider seems to quiver a little, and I see it raise a leg. Slowly, it puts it back down, and I wonder if it's just deciding whether it's brave enough to move and risk the chance of death should I notice it. I watch it turn a near 180, and hurriedly it retreats from whence it came—well, around the corner towards the toilet, anyway. Which is a problem since I desperately need to pee.

I amble downstairs, using somewhat of an accidental strut as I am not the morning-person, and hurry into the bathroom to the right of the stairs. I won't bother you—or bore you—with the details, I'm not that cruel.

As I wring my hands out with the hand-towel—guess what color that is—and set it back, my hands now dry, I decide to stare at the girl in the glass before me. My eyes peruse her soft face that longs for sharp edges, longing for a pointed chin at least, and then the somewhat broad shoulders that make me wonder if I'd be better suited as a male; I'm wider there than my brother, but he's still growing, so that's not saying much. I have muscle, but I'm still a little soft. I've wondered, sometimes, if I just stopped working out as hard as I do, if I would then lose that muscle, and look like everybody else. Slim chance of me doing that, though. That hour I find all to myself; I never have to think about things I don't want to, don't have to look at people I don't want to…suddenly only the things I want to exist do. I've made a new world, where only there are those whom I see fit. It's fascinating, really, to find that the world I create varies everyday, depending on my mood. It's scary to think, however, that this may be related to some subconscious monster of mine that plans to take over the world someday…

I am so very sorry. I'm really crazy in the morning. Perhaps I'll go make some coffee…


	4. Excursion

-(3 hours later)-

…

I heard my friend over the phone mention something about meeting her at the train station. I tried that, and…

In short, here's my theory:

It's a _very_ bad idea to follow cute boys through walls to apparently another dimension that shouldn't exist. It's also a _very_ bad idea to slip into a luggage cart and manage to sneak yourself into a high-security area where apparently they—possibly a cult with an obsession with long black robes—like to chuck people off at a nearby town.

So, here I am. I think I saw a sign a little ways off that mentions something about a Hog's Heart or something? Anyway, it's freezing, I think I'm a little ways outside the already freezing London (there's not much sun even in summer), and I've just been meandering about for a while.

The sight's really amazing, though. Snowflakes litter the sky like stars at night, and everything's covered in snow. The scene's absolutely breathtaking… I puff out, and amuse myself with the resultant white puffs in front of my face. After a while, though, the white-fog grows bothersome and I start to head over to a joke shop a little ways down the street.

A group of rowdy men strut down the street. I hear them, however barely:

"_You_ said Jamison didn't want any part of it! Now look where we are!"

"—_But how's this _my_ fault_?"

"Well, gee, I don't know—we _Apparated_ to the _wrong town_, possibly!"

"—Well, _possibly—_"

"—_Possibly_ you'll keep your neck when Bellatrix is done with you—"

"—Right, nothing to be afraid of, then…" The man who said this suddenly stares down at his feet as he walks. He looks oddly like one of the boys on the train—probably a father or something. His long, silvery-blonde hair frams a sharp face, and when his and everyone else's eyes dart over to me when I gasp upon slipping on (presumably) ice, I hurry into the shop. Inside, I feel so much warmer, and I rub my hands together as I glance out the window; no sign of them… Though, who's Bellatrix? And what's _Apparation_? What were they talking about?—

"Welcome to Weasley's—"

"—_Aiih!_" I scream and jump backwards at the sudden intrusion of space; I had found a rather cheery face in front of my own, but once I jump back, I apparently bounce into his copy—er, twin. They grin down at me, and I notice one of them has an eye-patch over his ear… I blush, and softly mumble, "Sorry about that—"

"—About what? We didn't hear anything! Did we, George?" The clone in front of me beams, and looks to his brother.

"Ay, nothin'. Not so much as a squeak."

I feel a little better in their company. Something about them's warm an inviting—regardless of the -_snake?-_ skin on their vests. Not sure it really _is_ snake skin, though… I clear my throat and blush again. "I'm, uh, new here, and—where exactly am I?"

As the one in front of me opens his mouth, the door opens again, with the alarming sound of a large flatulent-imitation; my eyes dart to the door, but I relax immediately upon finding that it's only a young girl and her mother, not the group of men I had overheard earlier… I smile faintly at them when they look at me, and I turn to the presumed snake-skin vested man before me. Now that I look at him again, he looks a little familiar, possibly a relative of someone on the train? I'll think of it later…

"I'm Fred Weasley, at your service—Oi, George, new'uns!" He glances at his brother over my shoulder, who needn't the direction as he's already at the mother's and daughter's side; they're already hysterical and clutching the sides, from whatever George had said. I grin and look back to Fred.

"—So, about where this is?"

"—Ah, Hogsmeade." He pauses, glances at my raincoat, and cocks a brow. "What's this? Muggle?"

"—Uh, huh?" I guess he took my non-word question as a statement, since he nods his head and chuckles a little.

"Oi, me dad's _obsessed_ with them Muggles. You'd think he'd like to be _one_ of 'em—do you?" Fred asks, seeming to be a little amused at the thought.

Me, on the other hand, want to scream _What?_ "Uh, well, sure, sometimes…"

"—Well, I guess that makes sense if you had that _toad _Umbridge"—his face squinches up at the name—"so is that why you're skipping school? Or do you not go to Hogwarts?—Or," he grins, eyes dancing—"Potential customer for _escaping_ school? Here!" He ushers me after him with his hand, and I follow him to a nearby counter. As we walk along, I suddenly notice the random objects along the walls—large black pots, sticks with handles, pointy feathers and dragon plushies. Interesting.

"So," I overhear George telling the mother of the little girl, who's holding a very cute puff ball plushie, "make sure it's safe before any owls or toads get it. Cats, though, won't touch 'em, so don' worry…"

"Here we are!" Fred announces, as he whips around with a box in front of himself; I have to lurch back before I ram into him like I did to his brother; he seems to notice this, and smiles at me as he continues: "These are our first—and finest—box of assorted goodies. Ah! But they are not _only_ goodies, for chance, take this one…" He opens the lid, and removes one, with two colors, "Eat this side, and you'll get a bloody nose—and when you're out of class and the nurses can't do anything about it, eat the other side, and enjoy your freedom bloody-nose free! Mind you, don't fail your classes to come work for us, we—George and I—have had a load of them first-years pull that idea acr'ss, but so you know we promote education _and_ freedom, since Hogwarts is, well…Hogwarts."

He seems content with his little speech. We smile at each other, but really, I can't think of anything else to do, or say—what's _Hogwarts?_ An institution? College? High school?—and just staring up at him seems a little too weird for my taste. But, I guess he wants me to buy these things, so I say, "My parents have all of my money, since I trashed the side of the car when I backed up into the garage and hit the bushes."

Fred pauses at this, and laughs. "Oi! Me dad has a Muggle car, too! George and I almost crashed it, too, but he caught us before we could do any real damage, sadly." He winks and nods as he sets the goody back inside the box, and he sets the box back behind him. "So what classes do you have this year? You seem to be about O.W.L. age, or N.E.W.T.s at least—no offense, if you're older," he ads, and continues, "But you make a _great_ youngin'—ever try modeling at Madame's across the street? She tapers robes really well."

"—Ah, well, I don't know," I add sheepishly; meanwhile, my mind's just reeling. _WHAT?!_

"—Fred!" George suddenly calls. We both look over to him, and find that the mother and girl are gone, and instead he's pointing to something like a backroom. Fred nods, and says, "Well, we'll be at the back if you need anythin'." He smiles before he disappears.

I don't know. He's really cute, but then so was the boy with shaggy hair and glasses… Oh! That's it, they must be older cousins or brothers of that one boy beside the cute one! Major flashback, sorry, anywho…

I glance around the room, and shrug before bracing myself for the cold, and plunging myself back into the snowy realm of, well, Hogsmeade, wherever that is… I wrap my silver and green scarf tighter around my neck (the one gift I actually like from my relatives), as I head left to what seems like a parlor, or pub, and step inside.


End file.
